


Wanna Bet?

by softlyspiraling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bets are made, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fred Weasley Lives, George is a good brother, Ron isn't a bad brother, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?, and he's very protective of hermione, and not really out of character, and seriously infatuated with her, but I promise it's necessary to the plot, just kind of oblivious, obviously, slight ron bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyspiraling/pseuds/softlyspiraling
Summary: After Ron insists Fred doesn't have a chance with Hermione, he decides to put money on it. The bet? Simple: Hermione must agree to go on a date with Fred before the New Year. Fred thinks it should be fairly easy to pull off--as long as Hermione doesn’t kill him when he tells her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, minor Ron Weasley/Lavender Brown - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 112





	Wanna Bet?

**Author's Note:**

> Anon Requested: fremione fake-dating??? maybe someone did a bet that fred couldn't date her and everyone was being mean to her bc ron is w lavender and they expected her to be w him, and fred (who has feelings for her obv) is like "not oN MY WATCH" and he's like "let's fake date so we'll get money out of this suckers" idk!!! hi hope you're well

Fred watched Hermione smile the way one might watch a child fall off a training broom after trying to mount it for the first time: fond, pitying, just the slightest bit amused.

None of the others noticed it, the way her eyes didn’t light up in joy or how her smile was a bit too stiff to be natural. But he did. Likely because he had been the only one to elicit a real, genuine grin out of the witch in the past six months or so. He spent enough time staring at her, he should certainly know the difference by now, even if no one else did.

Harry, he would give a pass to as he had his hands a bit full with his godson running around the room and being forced to sit through wedding planning with Molly as Ginny only rolled her eyes in the background. Poor bloke really was stretched thin these days, and Fred knew he still made a conscious effort to reach out to Hermione and include her in his life despite it. Not noticing her silent suffering in a room filled with noisy celebrations was almost understandable, all things considered.

Ron, on the other hand, was on thin fucking ice.

He should have noticed how uncomfortable Hermione was the second he announced that Lavender Brown would be coming to their family Christmas. Should have given in when Hermione politely tried to extract herself from the event in anticipation of the unbearable awkwardness that was sure to come with attending a dinner with your ex-boyfriend, his annoying new (old) girlfriend, and said ex-boyfriend’s entire family.

But then again, Ron did have it right when he (rather untactfully) pointed out that she didn’t exactly have anyone else to spend the holiday with.

He was supposed to be the one who knew her best though, despite their (mostly) amicable break-up nine months ago. They were still friends, after all, and they were better as such anyway. But it would be uncomfortable for anyone to watch their ex-boyfriend/best friend intermittently sneak off with his new girlfriend that he just so happened to have a rather spotty history with, only to come back to engage in conversation about their other best friend’s wedding and _oh Won Won, I just_ love _the way the cream napkins set off the lavender table clothes. I do hope we can incorporate that color scheme in_ our _wedding_ , never mind that they weren’t even engaged.

Fred was feeling rather nauseous himself, if he was being honest, and he had never been in a relationship with either of them. He couldn’t imagine how Hermione felt, standing with her back against the fireplace as though she were just waiting for the opportunity to make a quick escape through the Floo network. But the forced smile and uncomfortable way she was hugging herself as she clutched her wine glass in a vice grip told him enough, even if no one else could be bothered to notice.

“You’re staring again,” a voice nearly identical to his own warned from next to him, and he immediately averted his gaze. But it was too late.

“Still pining, eh Freddy?” Charlie teased, flopping down next to Fred on the sofa, throwing his arm over his shoulders.

George scoffed into his glass of firewhiskey at his other side, and any gratitude Fred held towards him for the too-late warning faded instantly. He caught Bill’s eye from where he sat in the armchair to their left, and his rather wolfish grin told him that he had noticed as well, though he kindly chose not to say anything.

Which was precisely why he was his favorite brother. After George of course.

Well, after George on a good day. Today just happened to _not_ be.

“Of course,” George said, rolling his eyes in what could only be described as fond exasperation. “I don’t know if he could make it more obvious at this point.”

“I am not _obvious_ ,” Fred hissed, hoping they would understand and lower their damn voices before they drew even more attention to his unfortunate state of being.

That is to say, his rather inopportunely timed attraction to one Hermione Granger, of course.

“You stare at her,” George said, tone flat and uncharacteristic frown tugging at his lips. “You send her ‘trials’ from the shop like a dedicated husband would send his wife flowers. You have dinner with her once a week just to ‘catch up,’ like either of you are really _that_ interesting—”

“Oi!”

“—and you get this look on your face whenever she laughs, like she’s made your entire day just by existing.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he sounded a bit unsure. Fred didn’t blame him. No one knew him like George did, and usually his twin had the good grace not to blab his business to anyone else. But apparently his tongue got a little too loose after three glasses of firewhiskey and four months of watching his brother pine after a certain curly-haired witch. “What he said. But you know that nothing can come of it right?”

Fred grit his teeth and ignored the sympathetic look George was pulling in an attempt to convey his own feelings on the subject. He simply sipped at his drink and hoped that his obnoxious and overly intoxicated brothers would find something else to talk about before he lost his temper.

And really, when had that been a problem before? Fred and George were both known for their laid-back and carefree demeanor, but he supposed there had always been something about Hermione Granger that got under his skin and brought out the worst (and best) in him. Thoughts of his fourth year and an attempted attack on Malfoy came to mind, and his lips twitched up without his permission as they so often did when he thought of Hermione.

He really was in trouble, despite his efforts to play it cool. But no one else needed to know that.

“Lay off him,” Bill finally cut in, taking pity on him. “He knows better, no sense in rubbing salt in the wound, yeah?”

And suddenly Percy was Fred’s favorite brother, which was a rather clear indicator of where all of the others currently ranked on his shit list.

“Do I though?” Fred couldn’t resist challenging with a mischievous smirk, if only because he was completely over this conversation and everyone telling him what he can and can’t do and who he can and can’t fancy.

“Fred,” George warned lowly, regret for having started his conversation clear on his face. “Let’s not get into this here, yeah?”

Fred inhaled deeply, ready to concede and make a quick retreat to his room before another voice cut in.

“Get into what?”

All four Weasley brothers turned their head as one to look at their youngest brother. Fred would have been amazed that he had managed to extricate himself from his lovely girlfriend who had a habit of clinging to him like an octopus in heat were he not so concerned that he had just overheard every word they had said leading up to this interruption.

“You’re not talking about ‘Mione, are you?”

Which he had, apparently.

Fred shrugged, feigning indifference even as his heart started beating uncomfortably fast in his chest.

George, ever faithful to his twin, downed the rest of his (rather full) glass of firewhiskey and used the subsequent burning of his throat as an excuse not to respond.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably and looked at a particularly fascinating wall across the room, far away from Ron’s expectant eyes and Hermione’s completely oblivious form, still reclined against the fireplace.

Bill got up and walked away without a word. Fred had always suspected he was the smartest of them all.

“You are!” Ron exclaimed, and Fred braced for the impact of his anger, fingers twitching against his wand in anticipation of casting a silencing charm before he could cause a scene. But then Ron was laughing, and Fred almost wished he would yell at him instead.

“C’mon mate,” Ron chortled, falling gracelessly into the seat Bill had vacated. “ _Hermione_? You can’t be serious!”

“Careful there, _Won Won_ ,” George cautioned when Fred only raised a brow in a bid to keep things from escalating and catching the attention of a certain witch. “We haven’t questioned your current… romantic interests. You would do well to return the favor.”

Ron snorted and Fred felt his temper rise in kind.

“Relax, I’m not trying to start anything. Just surprised is all,” Ron answered, voice a bit calmer, though the amusement was still clear on his face. Fred knew that he really had gotten a better handle on his temper after the war, but he suspected his laidback attitude had less to do with self-control and more to do with a complete lack of concern. He tried not to be offended by the implication.

“I mean, really. _Hermione_?” Ron said again, as though just repeating her name would make Fred realize how hopeless it was. As though he didn’t already know. “ _I_ couldn’t make it work with her, and we’ve certainly got more in common than the two of you would. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Try as he might, Fred was officially offended. And when Fred was offended (and admittedly, slightly inebriated), he tended to make poor decisions.

“Oh really? Care to make a wager?”

Ron scoffed, George paled, Charlie choked on his drink, and Bill circled back around to listen in at a careful distance. Fred didn’t care. Ron was being a git—to both him and Hermione—and if he had to do something that was extremely likely to blow up in his face to make a point well… no one had ever accused him of making sensible decisions, had they?

“A wager? What are you on about now?”

“Well, _Won Won,_ you just implied that Hermione would never date me,” Fred answered, speaking slowly in the way he knew made Ron feel like a bit of an idiot. Which he often was. “I think you’re wrong. Are you willing to put money on it?”

“Fred,” George cut in as Ron’s face turned an alarming shade of red, “I don’t think this is a great idea. Maybe just let it go, yeah?”

For the briefest moment, Fred considered taking his twin’s advice. He was, after all, the closest thing Fred had to a voice of reason.

But then, from across the room, Fred heard a simpering voice—

_“Oh Hermione, didn’t you bring someone with you? You look so_ lonely _over there all by yourself!”_

—and he knew that this _had_ to stop, one way or another.

“No, George, I don’t think I will let this go. If Ron is so sure that Hermione would never be interested in me, then what does he have to lose by putting a little money on it?”  
  


Of course, Fred was smart enough to know that there was plenty of things wrong with making Hermione the object of a bet, but he also knew that he would deal with that _after_ he wiped that smug look off of Ron’s face.

And if the fierce frown on his bright red face was anything to go by, Fred had already succeeded there.

“Alright, fine,” Ron seethed, “if you want to be a git about it, sure. Twenty galleons says you can’t get Hermione to go on a date with you by the end of the year. Deal?”  
  


Fred knew he should refuse—twenty galleons was a lot of money, New Year’s Eve was only six days away, Hermione would kill him when she found out—but what he said was, “Done.”

And then he stood up and strode over to the woman of his dreams without another word and, realistically speaking, without a hope in the world of getting her to agree to a date with him once she knew what he’d done.

.:.

The holidays were the hardest, Hermione knew.

At first, it was just the reminder of all they had lost during the war. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Moody, even _Snape_. Her parents were the worst though. Despite the fact they were both alive and perfectly happy in Australia, it stung to know that they would never know they once had a daughter who had to erase their memories of her to keep them safe.

(And, if she were being honest, that’s what hurt the _most—_ knowing they were so _happy_ without her, even if she was relieved that they were able to live safely without knowledge of her world.)

But it also reminded them of what they still had but very nearly lost.

Fred, who was in a coma for weeks before finally waking up after the wall collapsed on him.

Lavender, who Greyback had mauled, but had thankfully been ripped away by Hermione’s hex before he could do any fatal damage.

Which brought her to why holidays _still_ sucked, three years after the war and nearly a year after her split from Ron.

“Oh _Won Won,_ come over quick! There’s mistletoe in the kitchen that I didn’t notice before!”

Hermione was over Ron, she really was. After two years of giving it their best, their relationship never did feel as comfortable as it had when they were just friends: they fought too much and shared so little in common interests once defeating Voldemort was taken out of the equation. He could never follow her when she talked about her workday or projects she was working on, and it only served to make him feel stupid and lash out.

They really just weren’t suited for domestic bliss, something they had both finally admitted and come to terms with. Luckily, they were still friends thanks to this mutual understanding.

However, there were certainly downsides to remaining close friends with your ex, and one of those happened to be sitting through an awkward holiday celebration where said ex swapped a concerning amount of spit and wedding talk with a woman she had once been terribly jealous of.

Now, it was just annoying and uncomfortable, watching a family she considered her own in so many ways fawn over Ron’s new girlfriend and leave her to hold up the fireplace all on her own without so much as a “ _How have you been Hermione?”_.

It was preferable to conversation though, as whenever she _did_ engage it was always met with comments like _oh Hermione, you really would have made such a beautiful bride, but I suppose it’s all for the best now_ or _Hermione, did you know that Lavender works in the Ministry as well? She’s already been promoted after a year! Isn’t that just so impressive._

She knew they (as in Molly Weasley specifically of course) meant well, but it still stung to be treated like old news when she had been assured (and perhaps foolishly believed) that she was still family, with or without her relationship to Ron.

She was beginning to think staying at home alone would have been preferable after all.

“Hello, Ms. Granger.”

Her head whipped around, shocked out of her silent self-pitying by Fred Weasley’s smooth baritone and warmth as he sidled up next to her, firewhiskey clutched tight in one hand while the other draped itself across her shoulder. Her lips twitched up without prompting, perhaps the first genuine smile of the night, even if it was a rather pathetic one.

“Fred,” she greeted in return. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Not really,” he answered in that casual way of his even though his eyes appeared to be piercing straight to her soul in their intensity. “Just came away from a rather unfortunate conversation with Ickle Ronniekins.”

Hermione glanced over Fred’s shoulder, unconsciously looking for the spot across the living room where she had been stealing occasional glances at Fred (and the rest of the Weasley brothers of course) throughout the night. What she found were three Weasley men staring at them in intense captivation and a fourth with seething irritation, and she winced in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine what sort of “unfortunate conversation” resulted in a stare down like _this_ , but she knows that she feels bad for Fred for being on the receiving end of it. Even if he did probably deserve it.

“Oh Merlin,” she sighed in what can only be described as fond exasperation—a common occurrence since she started to become better acquainted with Fred. “What have you done now?”

“Something I probably shouldn’t have,” he replied before draining the rest of his firewhiskey in one gulp and turning to face her more fully, completely obscuring her view of their audience.

She only raised a single eyebrow, a practiced move that typically had Harry and Ron spilling their guts but only served to make Fred’s lips twitch in amusement.

Though he did appear almost… nervous. A strange look for Fred Weasley, and one that made her a little apprehensive of what exactly he _did_ do. But in the blink of an eye, the look was gone and suddenly his face was _much_ closer to her own.

“In the spirit of honesty,” he murmured, the whisper of his words brushed against the shell of her ear, the warmth of his breath on her skin and the smell of the Firewhiskey on his tongue causing an involuntary shiver to run down her spine, “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” she returned, trying to keep an air of calm unaffectedness despite the goosebumps that started where his lips had brushed against her skin and spread down her neck like wildfire. She sipped on her wine and stared at the Christmas tree that she could just see over Fred’s broad shoulder, pretending that her attention _wasn’t_ entirely focused on Fred and the way his lips were still so close to her now hyper-sensitive skin. And if his responding chuckle was any indication, he very well knew it.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the sound and vibration causing a flush to rise to her cheeks in a way she hoped could be attributed to the drink in her hand and not the man draped across her. Honestly, how had no one noticed that he was practically absorbing her into his own body at this point? Were they all really that oblivious or was she simply imagining things? Or were the four Weasley brothers still just watching this rather strange show in silent fascination, placing bets on what would happen next? “But I can’t tell you here.”

He pulled back abruptly, and Hermione instantly felt bereft of his heat, though the feeling was immediately chased away by her annoyance at that fact. It took her a moment to even recall what it was he was saying (which was, admittedly, not much).

“And why not?” she shot back once she remembered that this was supposed to be a normal conversation with her ex-boyfriend’s brother, not an exhibition.

Fred’s grin was decidedly predatory, and Hermione tried her best to not relish in that fact but _Merlin_ , had he always been this attractive, or was the wine getting to her?

“A couple reasons. But the one that really matters right now is that it’ll really piss Ron off if we disappear upstairs together. So, what do you say?”

Hermione knew it was petty of her to get a little thrill out of causing one of her oldest friends any sort of irritation, but after the last four hours of standing by the fireplace with only backhanded compliments or outright insults for company, well… her answer was fairly obvious.

“Your room then?”

Fred’s grin only widened as she polished off the last of her wine, set the glass on the mantle, and led the way up the stairs.

If she had glanced back, she would have seen four identical looks of shock on Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron’s faces as she silently reached back and snatched up Fred’s hand on the way.

As it was, she kept her head held high and shoulders thrown back as she tugged Fred up the stairs, trying desperately to appear calm and collected despite the nerves that were tying her stomach in knots as she considered just what it was Fred wanted to confess to her.

.:.

“So,” Hermione starts as soon as Fred has closed the door behind them, “What do you need to tell me?”

If Fred had looked slightly nervous before, he looks positively anxious now. All the smug amusement that had previously dominated his face was gone, and he stood with his arms crossed and back against the door, almost as far from where she stood in the center of the room as he could get. The change was off putting, to say the least.

She frowned when he didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Is everything all right, Fred?”

His lips pursed and for a moment she thought he really wasn’t going to tell her what this was all about, but then he said, “I’m not sure yet. I have a feeling you’re about to be very angry with me,” and she was both relieved and anxious all at once.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “best to just get it over with then.”

Fred looked like he didn’t agree with her, but he ploughed on regardless. “I made a bet with Ron.” When she didn’t respond in the pregnant pause that followed, he continued. “It involved you.”  
  


“Involved me how, exactly?” Hermione cut in when it seemed like he really was going to leave it there. And if her voice came out sharper than she intended, Fred didn’t appear to notice, too caught up in trying to figure out how to say whatever it was he had to say.

He took a deep breath, then, and let it out in a rush of air: “I bet him twenty galleons that I could get you to go on a date with me by the end of the year.”  
  


Whatever Hermione was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t _that_ and all she could think to say in response was a startled “ _What?”_

And though she had to pull the truth out of Fred sentence by sentence before, the words came _pouring_ out of him now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I _know_ it was a stupid thing to do. But I was just so _tired_ of Ron acting like he’s the authority on you and telling me what I could and couldn’t do. As though he _really_ knows you that well, considering he practically forced you into attending a party you _knew_ would be uncomfortable and then does absolutely nothing to make it easier on you. The bloke is completely oblivious ninety percent of the time, but anytime _I_ try to talk to you or ‘take your side,’ suddenly he’s there and telling me to back off. Like _he’s_ the only one that has a right to show any interest in you despite the fact you haven’t been in a relationship for nearly a year and you’ve barely even _seen_ each other since. Not that I blame you of course. I’d rather not see him myself, especially when he’s constantly attached at the hip with that whiny little girlfriend of his. I mean, I suppose she wouldn’t be _that bad_ if she could just stop talking about _herself_ or her dear _Won Won_ for more than a bloody minute. Honestly, George and I thought you and Ginny were exaggerating your sixth year, but obviously—”

“Fred Weasley,” Hermione finally cut it once it was clear this confession had gone off the rails completely. “Are you _rambling_?”

“No,” Fred shot back defensively, followed by a less sure, “well, maybe.”

“Definitely,” she corrected, grinning widely.

She was somehow thoroughly amused rather than irritated as she knew she should be. Being the object of a bet between her ex and his brother should have infuriated her completely. Especially when it concerned her love life, something neither of them had any right to even _discuss_.

But this was _Fred_. Fred who was kind to her when everyone else in the Weasley family (save Ginny) was too afraid of Molly’s wrath to even speak to her during the first month after her break up with Ron. Fred who sent her “care packages” that consisted mostly of WWW products that she would never use but appreciated for their brilliance. Fred who went out of his way to make her feel included during the few Weasley family meals she still attended. Fred who was often on the receiving end of Ron’s glare as a result. Fred who made her smile for the first time that night. Fred who touched her so lightly but incited a warmth in her that she hadn’t felt in ages. Fred who was so much taller than her, and warmhearted and funny and _clever and brilliant and_ —

Dear _God_ , did she have a crush on _Fred Weasley?_

Well… that changed things a bit.

She bit her lip, suddenly unsure of whether the plan forming in her mind was wise or not. Hermione really wasn’t one to rush into things or make a decision without thinking through all of the possible outcomes, but well… Fred was still staring at her with cautious, heartbreaking brown eyes and he looked so _earnest_ and Ron really _was_ being a bit of a git.

And if even one outcome resulted in her and Fred being happy—possibly even _together_ —then she was willing to risk it. She was a Gryffindor after all.

“Twenty galleons you say?”

Fred blinked at her as though he didn’t understand. “Uh, yeah. Twenty galleons. That was what we bet.”

“Seems like a lot,” she teased, smile slowly forming on her lips as she became more confident in her decision. “You must be very invested in my love life.”

Fred narrowed his eyes at her, entirely aware that she was taking the mickey out of him. But he answered her with a seriousness that sobered her quickly. “You could say that.”

“Well…” she swallowed, unsure of how to take that but hoping it meant what she thought it did. “I assume we’d split it then?”

“Of course,” Fred answered, though he suddenly looked uncertain, as though he couldn’t possibly imagine where she was taking this. “It’s only fair.”

“Then are you free tomorrow?”

“Am I— _what?_ ”

Hermione’s smile only grew, finding Fred’s confusion endearing. She had never seen him so shaken before, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

“Are you free? For our date? I know it’s short notice, but he didn’t exactly give us much time to work with, and the sooner the better.”

This may have had something to do with her fear that she would overthink it if given more time, but he didn’t need to know that. 

“You’re serious?” Fred asked, looking like he had just been told Percy was quitting his job at the Ministry to become a pole dancer. “You’re not mad at me? You’re actually _agreeing_ to go on a date with me?”

“Well, first of all, I’m not _agreeing_ to do anything. I’m _asking_ you to go on a date with me—a distinction you may want to make clear to Ronald,” Hermione corrected, smile turning less teasing and more sly. “And while I do wish you would have consulted me first, I understand that that wasn’t exactly an option at the time. And… I appreciate your honesty. You didn’t have to be up front with me—you could have just offered to take me on a date and I would have had no idea it was with ulterior intentions. So… yes, Fred Weasley. I would like to go on a date with you. If not for the ten galleons, then to see the look on Ronald’s face when I tell him.”

“And for my stimulating company, of course?” Fred waggled his eyebrows, looking much more like himself than he did only moments ago. Hermione’s heart warmed at the sight, pleased that _she_ had that effect on him.

“But of course,” Hermione practically purred, her voice taking on a quality it had never possessed before. One that made Fred’s face flush and his heart beat erratically. “And make no mistake, Fred Weasley. Even _if_ we’re going on this date to win a bet and prove your brother wrong, it will be a _real_ one. I expect you to plan something nice, all right?”

“I can do that,” Fred agreed easily, grin only growing. “On my honor as a wizard, it will be the best date you’ve ever been on Hermione Granger.”

Her responding grin was just as bright. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Shall we then?” Fred asked after a pause that seemed to increase the temperature of the room by about ten degrees. He opened the door wide, gesturing grandly for her to go through first. Hermione rolled her eyes but walked through without complaint. Fred’s grin only brightened. 

That is, until they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Mistletoe,” Hermione breathed as she came to a sudden, jarring stop at the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locked on the offending bit of magical flora that floated above their heads.

Fred’s gaze, however, was locked on a face nearly identical to his own, though his twin was smirking rather than glaring as Fred was. Next to him, Ron appeared ready to combust.

“I’m sorry,” Fred apologized immediately, gaze turning soft and pleading as he turned to look down at her. “I had no idea—”

“I know,” she answered, already guessing at who had moved this wonderful bit of magic to trap them at the bottom of the stairs. Normally, she would be angry that yet another choice had been made for her. But after three glasses of wine, an intense conversation with Fred, and the promise of a wonderful date tomorrow, she was feeling a bit reckless. “Might as well let them know my answer now.”

“What are you—”

She cut him off with a press of her lips to his still-open mouth, and though she had initially intended for it to be chaste, she used the opportunity to slip her tongue inside and taste him properly. His answering groan told her she had made the right decision.

It was a bit uncomfortable, as far as first kisses go. He was a step above her on the stairs, and as he was already taller than her, it meant she had to stretch up on her tiptoes _and_ yank him down by the collar to even reach him. Not to mention she could practically _feel_ the eyes of their friends and family boring into her back. But when Fred stepped down and tugged her closer, never breaking free of her hold on him, they really found their stride.

She had no idea how long they stood there, her fists clenched tightly in his jacket and his cinching her waist despite his overwhelming desire to bury them in her hair, their lips moving and caressing each other seamlessly; but eventually someone cleared their throat and she pulled away with a _pop_ that would have embarrassed her if Fred weren’t currently looking at her as though she was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“Well,” Hermione said after an awkward beat of silence, turning to find that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to stare at them, eyes wide and mouths gaping. “It’s been lovely, but I think I’ll go home. Thanks for everything Molly, Arthur.” She nodded to his parents as she separated from him, heading directly for the Floo.

She picked up a handful of powder, ready to throw it into the fireplace, before she turned back to face him at the last second, grin mischievous. The sight nearly brought him to his knees. “Oh, and I’ll see you tomorrow Fred. What time are you picking me up?”

“Six?” he suggested, lips curving up to match hers as his family continued to watch them in a sort of stunned fascination.

“I’ll see you at six then,” she agreed before disappearing is a swirl of green flames.

Another tense silence followed her departure, and Fred took great pains to not meet the eyes of anyone in the room. If they were horrified, surprised, or disgusted, he really didn’t care to know. He had just snogged Hermione Granger senseless, and he planned on ridding this high as long as possible.

“I think I’ll head out too,” Fred decided, sparing his twin one last glance as he made his way to the fireplace. “See you at the flat, George.”

In the seconds it took him to grip the Floo powder and throw it down, the room seemed to come back to life. Molly Weasley started screaming questions at him so fast he couldn’t even begin to decipher them, Ron called out “What in the _bloody hell_ was that?”, Charlie was applauding, Ginny was wolf whistling, but Fred didn’t care. He was already flying through the Floo Network, hoping that no one (save George) was stupid enough to follow him.

He had an important date to plan, after all. And if he had any hope of getting Hermione to agree to a second one, it had to be _perfect_.

**Author's Note:**

> This got a bit longer than I meant it to, so it's split into two parts. The second part should come later this week. Any thoughts on what our lovebirds should do on their date?


End file.
